Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Fifty-five

When l opened my eyes again I saw that I had another visitor. I also saw that it was dark out, probably well past visitor’s hours.

“How’d you get them to let you in here?” I asked Jerry.

He turned from the window and walked over to the bed. I had recognized his broad back.

“I tol’ ’em to try and make me leave,” he said. “Nobody had the balls to do it.”

“What are you doin’ here, Jerry?”

“My job,” he said. “Keepin’ you safe.”

“I’m in the hospital, Jerry.”

“They can get to you here just as easy as out there, Eddie,” he said. “Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it.”

“You gonna stay awake all night?” I asked.

“That’s the plan.”

I stared at him. Was he doing this because Frank had told him to keep me healthy, or had we managed to bond over the past two days?

I really didn’t care.

“Thanks, Jerry.”

“Sure,” he said.

“What happened with you and the cops-”

“Just go to sleep,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll be here when you wake up. We’ll talk about it then.”

I wanted to tell him that was jake with me, but when I opened my mouth no words came out ….

Next time I opened my eyes the sun was streaming in the window. Jerry was still there, sitting in a chair, still awake.

“’Mornin’” he said.

“You must be exhausted,” I said.

“I had a few hours rest yesterday in a cell,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“How’d the lawyer get you out?”

“There was no match with my gun, and the witness they had turned out to be not so good. He saw two men, one taller than the other, but no faces.”

“So how did the cops know to come to the Sands to get you?” I asked. “And why talk to me about it?”

“You ain’t so concussed,” he said. “Them’s good questions.”

“Something’ ain’t right here,” I said.

“With cops,” he said, “nothin’ is ever right. You ain’t gonna get no help from cops on this, Eddie.”

“I believe it.”

“Yer gonna have ta count on me, and on yer friend Danny.”

I knew I could count on Danny. But could I really count on Jerry? After all, he was Giancana’s man on loan to Frank Sinatra. Seemed to me I was low man on the totem pole.

“First thing we’ve got to do is get me out of here,” I said. “Jack Entratter said he’d be sendin’ someone.”

“That’s me,” he said. “I’ll drive ya.”

It was then it hit me that my beloved ’52 Caddy was gone. There may have been a piece or two on my lawn somewhere, but it was gone.

“You thinkin’ about your car?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a sin, blowin’ up a car like that. Somebody needs to die just for that.”

I agreed with him.

Jerry found my clothes in a nearby closet. I was dressed, sliding my feet into my shoes when a middle-aged nurse came through the door.

“Looks like you’re cleared to leave, Mr. Gianelli,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She gave Jerry a hard look. I didn’t bother asking what kind of run-in he must have had with the nursing staff the night before.

“Wait here while I get a wheelchair,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I can walk.”

“A wheelchair is required, Mr. Gianelli,” the nurse said. “Regulations.”

“My man says he can walk,” Jerry said to her. “He’s gonna walk.”

She glared at him again, seemed about to leave, then said to him, “You’re a horrible bully!”

He looked at me with an expression that asked, What did I do to deserve that?

“She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about,” I said.

“Thanks. I just-”

“I think you’re a helluva bully.”